ber to have received reproof and
instruction in manners, from him when I was five or six years of age.
He was careful of his possessions, and articles belonging to him, were
very generally marked "T. B."

It is a tradition among the older kindred, that the writer, though he
does not remember it, finding at the age of five or six, on grandpa's
premises, some loose tufts of scattered wool, and being told that they
were his, expressed the candid judgment, that it could not be so,
"because they were not marked T. B."

I am not aware that he was much given to humor, yet he would seem not to
have been entirely destitute of it from the philosophical account he
gave of the advantages of his position, when some one ventured to
condole with him on the steep hill of nearly a mile which lay between
his house and the church. He said it afforded him two privileges, first
that of dropping down quickly to meeting, when he had a late start; and
secondly, that of abundant time for reflection on the sermon while he
was going home.

His wife, undoubtedly his equal in every respect, to whom much of his
prosperity, usefulness, and good repute, as well as that of his family
was due, after a married life of fifty-three years and three months,
died in Dec., 1836. She had long been feeble. Her children watched
around her bedside on the last night in silence till one of her sons,
laying his hand upon her heart, and finding it still, said "we have no
longer a mother." I remember the hush of the next morning, throughout
the house, when we young children awoke. It was lonely and cold in
grandma's room, and only a white sheet covered a silent form.

At eighty-three he was alone, and he deeply felt, as was natural, that
loneliness. Yet he had affectionate children, and with his youngest son,
who had four daughters, to him kind and pleasant granddaughters, he made
his home for the remainder of his life. With the oldest of these he made
in 1837, as already noticed, his last visit to Connecticut, going as far
as New Haven and the city of New York. On this journey he went in his
own carriage. He visited us, once at least in Castleton, at the house
where the Log-Book was so long concealed. I remember his figure there,
as that of a "short and stocky man," who seemed to me very old. He died
while on a visit to Middlebury, where two of his children had been
settled for more than twenty years, at the house of his youngest
daughter and youngest child, Betse